by Eva Woods
Past Rosie was watching her friend sob prettily into a hankie. “And I was so looking forward to our trip. I can’t go now, I’d just cramp your style. I’ll have to get a job in Daddy’s firm and, and, spend the summer in Surrey.”
“Listen, Ing...you should still come. Come traveling.”
Ingrid’s head shot up. “You mean it?”
“Of course. You and Jack get on, and it’s not fair you can’t go just because of bloody Sebastian. It’s all paid for, isn’t it.”
“Oh Ro. You’re such a good friend. But I couldn’t! I’d just get in your way.”
“No, no.” Rosie could see her past self warming to this impulsive decision. “To be honest, Jack and I might get on each other’s nerves if it’s just the two of us. It’d be good to have someone else there.”
Ingrid was sobbing again, this time with gratitude. “I’ll be the best traveling companion ever! Daddy knows someone with a yacht on Cos, maybe we can use that.”
Rosie patted her hand. “Sure. And I bet you meet some sexy backpacker on the way who’ll help you forget all about stupid Sebastian. Shall I make us some hot chocolate with marshmallows?”
She was stirring the pan when a young man walked in with floppy hair and his hands shoved into the pockets of a puffer vest. “Alright, ladies. Just scored a bloody great try.” Of course. This was Jack. Strange how she’d forgotten him, when she’d spent two years sleeping beside him in a single university bed. Why had they split up?
“Change of plan,” said Rosie. “Ingrid and Sebastian are on the skids, so it’s just the three of us traveling. That’s okay, isn’t it, babe? You didn’t really like him anyway, after he sat on your head on the rugby pitch that time.”
She watched a strange expression pass over Jack’s face, which at the time she hadn’t really taken in or understood. “Sure!” he said, heartily, after a brief pause. “Need me to punch him in the nuts for you, Ing?”
“Bless you, he’d grind you to a pulp,” she said, smiling. She raised her mug, which had the Fifteen to One logo on it—they were all massive fans, never missing an episode. “Here’s to our travels!”
“Our travels,” echoed Past Rosie and Jack.
“I asked her along,” said Rosie now. “We went together, the three of us.” In hindsight, perhaps it was a bad sign that she and Jack were both so keen to have a buffer between them. “But...what happened next?”
“You’ll see. Gosh, I wish I’d got to go to uni. Boys! Drinks with umbrellas in! Intellectual debate! It must have been so sophisticated.”
“Er, yeah, if you mean sambuca shots and dancing to S Club 7.”
It was coming back to Rosie now, those university years, falling asleep in lectures and dancing all night, curling up on Ingrid’s bed with her collection of Winnie the Pooh soft toys. Halfway between children and adults. They’d been so close, despite the fact that Ingrid was a hundred times posher than Rosie and her mother was a Swiss countess. Another thing lost along the way. Had she fallen out with all her friends? Angie, and Melissa, and Caz, and Ingrid too? What was wrong with her? “Am I...are the memories trying to show me all the mistakes I made, so I can try to fix them? If I wake up?”
Melissa was noncommittal. “Only you know the answer, Ro-Ro.”
“But how will I know if I’m close, if none of you will tell me anything? It’s kind of frustrating. Did I want to die? Have I messed my life up so much I don’t even want it anymore?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, neither do I! And it’s already day two and I’m no closer to understanding—all I know is I’ve made so many mistakes. What if I can’t figure it out, and I never wake up? Please, will you help me?” Tears were pooling in her dry eyes. Real or imaginary, she didn’t know. “What if I never remember?”
“Come on, Ro-Ro, don’t get upset. Let’s go back.”
Daisy
Daisy stared at the laptop she’d asked Gary to bring her from work. She was in the café across the road from the hospital, the one she’d had her mini-breakdown in front of, which had Wi-Fi, having muttered something about checking work emails. Gary did not seem to find anything strange about working while your sister was in a coma, but her mother had raised her well-groomed eyebrows. “Surely they won’t expect you to, darling, in the circumstances?”
“They have a big pitch coming up, Alison,” Gary had said, seriously, and her mother deferred to him, as always. Daisy did feel terrible leaving Rosie’s bedside, but she also knew she had to. Maybe, if she could find out what had happened to her sister, she could help her wake up somehow.
The café was called Brief Encounters, and was mocked up as a 1940s train station buffet, complete with old-fashioned booths and chalkboards, retro condiments and classic British snacks. She hadn’t been able to face the hospital canteen, so she’d just walked out the door until this place appeared, its windows warm and steamy, its lights welcoming. Daisy had connected to the Wi-Fi, but she wasn’t going anywhere near her work emails. A large coffee and cheese sandwich sat beside her, both still untouched, as she Googled comas, and learned that in over half of the cases like Rosie’s, the person never woke up. Even if they did, many were never the same again. Terrified, she switched out of it and went through her sister’s Facebook friends, comparing them with the scribbled list of names she’d found in Rosie’s flat. Maybe one of these people would know what she’d been doing on that bridge.
Caz. That was an easy one. They’d fallen out, she said. Rosie had tried to contact her yesterday and she hadn’t answered. Angie, that was another obvious one. Angela Timmons had been Rosie’s best friend at secondary school, and Daisy remembered hovering outside Rosie’s room longing to be older, as the two of them giggled and tried on eye makeup and watched Dawson’s Creek. Daisy typed the name into the search bar and scrolled down through the pictures that appeared. Angie either had no Facebook account—unlikely—or she’d gotten married and changed her name. But to what?
Daisy went back to the list. Mum. Well, that was a can of worms she wasn’t ready to open. Who knew what things Rosie needed to say to their mother? It could take years. She skipped over her own name too, for the same reason, swallowing down all thoughts of the engagement party.
Ella was another name on the list. Daisy didn’t remember ever hearing about an Ella, and Rosie’s Facebook friends list also didn’t reveal one. Without a surname, she moved on to the rest. Dave, that was easy, but she didn’t want to think about him right now. Serge she didn’t know, but as it was an unusual name, Facebook told her he was Rosie’s boss at the coffee shop she worked in, who was also in a ska band called All Funked Up.
Mel was the next name. Daisy tried to think whether Rosie had a friend called that. A distant bell was ringing. A far-off impression of egg sandwiches and a too-long school skirt. That weird girl in Rosie’s year. What had her name been? Smelly Melly. Weird Melissa. Melissa... Carter! That was it. Melissa Carter. Rosie had befriended the strange girl, and for years she’d come round to the house to play. She’d always been kind to Daisy, letting her join in their games even though Rosie would roll her eyes and say she was too little.
There was nothing on Facebook, so she quickly Googled Melissa Carter. An article from almost twenty years ago came up, in a local paper in Kent. Teen dies in overdose. Daisy stared at it, horrified. What a terrible story—the girl, who in the picture looked nerdy and bookish, not the type to even sneak cigarettes behind the bike sheds, had swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills in her bathroom at home, and never woken up. What would drive a fourteen-year-old to that? In the article it said she’d moved to Kent when she was eleven, which maybe explained why she and Rosie had lost touch. So why did Rosie have the name of a long-dead girl on her list?
“Can I get you something else?” Daisy jumped as the guy from behind the counter spoke near her elbow. He was clearing the nearby table, and nodding at her untouched sandwich.
“If you didn’t like it I can make you something else. I do a mean bacon butty.”
Daisy blushed, remembering how she’d cried on him yesterday. “Oh! Thank you, sorry, I just got distracted.” She nibbled a bit to be polite, though her stomach felt leaden. “Is that pesto?”
“Yeah,” he said proudly. “I know it’s not very Brief Encounter, but I like to add a little something extra. A twist on a classic.”
“It’s good,” she said, truthfully. “I’m just not very hungry. I’m sorry.”
“How are things today, then?”
Oh dear, she’d hoped he might not remember. That maybe crying women were something he encountered on an hourly basis. “Oh, you know.” She wondered how to explain the laptop. “I’m not working. I just need to contact some of my sister’s friends.”
“Nothing wrong with working,” he said, neatly stacking the cups and plates from the table. “At times like this, you do whatever it takes to get through. Normal rules don’t apply. I won’t judge if you work or do nothing at all.”
“Thank you,” said Daisy gratefully. “I’m not sure my boss would agree.”
“I know what you mean, my boss is a real slave driver. I’m in here all hours. So if you ever need to chat...” He somehow hoisted all the crockery in one hand and held out his other. It was strong and broad. “Adam,” he said.
“Daisy. I’m sorry I didn’t eat the sandwich. It’s not the sandwich’s fault, honest.”
“It’s not me, it’s you, is what you’re saying.” He raised his eyebrows. Daisy felt a smile spread over her face, before reality asserted itself like a bucket of cold water. Why was she flirting with a café guy, when she was engaged and her sister was at death’s door?
“Er, I better get back to the hospital,” she said quickly. “There might be some change.”
“Here.” He scooted back behind the counter, and, using tongs, selected a slice of Victoria sponge from the display on the counter, flipped it neatly into a brown paper bag. “Take this. I insist. Everyone can always manage cake, even at the worst of times.”
“Oh I couldn’t...”
“’Course you could. It’s in my interests really, because once you taste it then you’ll come back again and again and be my best customer.” He gave her a wide smile. Daisy felt it hook into her, dangerous, scary, and mumbling her thanks, she gathered up the laptop and stumbled out.
Rosie
“...so then Mr. Cardew, that’s Philip Cardew, ACA, said, ‘Gary, you’ll go far in this business. I’ve never seen spreadsheets with this much detail!’”
“That’s wonderful, Gary. So the promotion...?”
“In the bank, Alison. At least, I’m almost ninety-nine percent sure. I better go and call the office, in fact. Time waits for no man in management consultancy!”
Rosie rolled her eyes, and was gratified when they actually complied. Thanks, guys! No one noticed, however. Her mother was still fluttering adoringly at Gary, and Daisy had just wandered in, looking slightly dazed, carrying a small paper bag. Hey, everyone, I’m here! I’m awake! I just can’t speak to you! Nothing. To them, it must look as if she was gone, absent, practically dead already. It was very frustrating.
“Where have you been?” their mother said suspiciously, as Gary ostentatiously went out to the corridor to make his phone call. (“Phil! Fella!”)
Daisy said, “Nowhere. Do you want some cake?”
“Oh no, dear, have you any idea how many calories are in that?”
Daisy’s hands crumpled the bag. “How is she?”
“The same.” Their mother sighed. “It’s just so hard, not being able to do anything.”
“We should talk to her. Hi, Rosie. It’s me. Daisy. Um... I’m here with Mum.”
“Do you really think she can hear you, darling?”
“I don’t know. We have to try though, don’t we?”
“I just...it’s so difficult. I’m so tired and worried.”
“I know. You could always go to our place and sleep for a bit if you wanted. Get some rest?”
“Thank you, darling. I should really go home though—I need some more things, clothes and so on, and I have to sort Mopsy out, he does hate being left alone. I was thinking perhaps I’d check in to a hotel. You know, it could be a while.”
“What do you mean?” Daisy frowned.
“Even if she does wake up, there’s no guarantee she’ll be...the same. She might need therapy, help to walk and talk again. She may not be herself.”
How rude! thought Rosie, indignant. Of course I’m myself. I’m exactly the same. I just...can’t move or speak.
The thought of being trapped like this, alive and entirely herself, but inside the prison of a broken body, was so horrific that she blacked it out. It wouldn’t come to that. She was sure. It wouldn’t. Her memories would come back, and she would wake up, and everything would be okay. She would put right all the mistakes she’d made, which were playing out again inside her damaged brain.
Daisy was wrinkling up her forehead like she did when she was trying not to cry. “But...there’s still hope. She might wake up. It’s early days still.”
Their mother leaned in, pressing Daisy’s arm. “Darling, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but is everything okay with you and Gary?”
“Of course it is. What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s just...you’ve been a little short with him, and you’ve seemed distracted even before this. The wedding’s in six months and you haven’t decided about the table plan or the menu choices or...”
“Mum!”
“I know, I know it’s not important right now, but darling, I just had to ask if you were...”
“What?”
Her mother looked wretched. Talking about feelings was not her style. “If everything was alright.”
“It’s fine. I’m just busy. I’m on the partnership track, Mum. I have a lot of responsibility.”
“And that’s wonderful. But wouldn’t you maybe think about...”
“What?”
“Well, once you’re married, you might step back a little? Gary won’t like it if you’re always home at midnight, exhausted and crying, will he?”
Daisy gaped at her. “But what else would I do?”
At this, their mother seemed to get cross. “I don’t understand this obsession with always having to do things. In my day having children was enough to be getting on with. And now you have to be a CEO as well. Tell me how that’s an improvement, darling.”
“But, Mum, I don’t have any children.”
“Not yet. But after the wedding...”
Rosie was sure she could see her sister shudder. It was torture to lie there listening to this conversation and not be able to crash into it, tell her mother it was 2017, for God’s sake, and anyway her own homemaking ways hadn’t been enough to stop her husband running off with a payroll clerk called Carole. Daisy’s shoulders were sagging.
“Just think about it,” said their mother, lowering her voice and treating Daisy’s arm to another squeeze. “Here’s Gary now. Be nice, darling. He’ll look after you. And that counts for a lot, believe me. I’ll just pop to the loo now you’re back.”
She doesn’t need looking after! Rosie shouted, inside her head, as their mother left the room. She’s fine, just fine. But was she? Had Rosie any idea what was going on in her little sister’s life? Their mother had mentioned crying, exhaustion. Rosie had a nasty feeling the answers were there, if she rooted around long enough in her disordered brain. But was she ready to know what she’d find?
Gary was back now. “Mr. Cardew says I’m much missed! I better go in tomorrow, Daise, is that okay?”
Daisy was blinking away tears. “What? Oh, of course. There’s not much we can do here anyway, except talk to her.”
“I tried that. I’m not convinced, I have to say.
”
Rosie couldn’t help but remember the last thing Gary had said to her before all this, hissed in her face outside that wine bar: if you ask me, your family would be a lot better off without you, Rosie. But try as she did, she couldn’t make her face give him the stink-eye. She had to just lie there, placid and calm, while inside the rage ate away at her.
“What have you got there, Daise?”
“Oh, just a bit of cake. Want some?”
“Refined sugar? On a weekday?”
“Normal rules don’t apply when someone’s in the hospital,” Daisy said, popping a piece in her mouth. “Oh!”
“What?”
“Nothing. It’s just really good cake.”
“Don’t forget about the wedding. We promised we’d lose ten pounds each. That reminds me, I need to talk to you about the centerpieces. Mr. Cardew said they had Sicilian lemons at theirs, so I wondered if—”
Daisy interrupted. “Listen—I thought I might drive Mum home to Devon tonight. She needs to pick up a few things and sort out the cat. We could come back first thing tomorrow. Is that okay?”
Gary was frowning. “But why do you have to go as well?”
“I just—I think Mum shouldn’t be alone. And besides, there’s some things...there’s... Look, Gary, don’t you think it’s strange Rosie goes under a bus like this, when we haven’t spoken in months?”
“You mean you think she...”
“I don’t know. I’d have said Rosie would never do that, but how would I know? I’ve basically cut her out of my life, and she’s been living in that horrible little flat all alone, and her career’s in the toilet and she seems to have fallen out with all her friends.”
Hey! Rosie tried to frown, and failed to move so much as a muscle. Dammit.
“What if it wasn’t an accident?” Daisy went on, her voice low. “I need to find out.”